


Fire and Ice

by gatekat



Category: Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Arranged Bonding, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubious Consent, First Time, Kink Meme, M/M, Sticky Sex, virgin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-24
Updated: 2012-10-24
Packaged: 2017-11-16 23:14:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/544898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gatekat/pseuds/gatekat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>G1 Comic-verse, Megatron/Prowl<br/>The war is over, but the peace is uneasy at best.  So in an effort to bring the two factions together in the greater society that took over Cybertron in their absence, Optimus and Megatron commit to bond with the other's SIC.  Neither SIC is thrilled, but they don't object too much, at least not when the agreement is made.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fire and Ice

**Author's Note:**

> Since too many people can't grasp that notes contain the spoilers and Major Character Death doesn't have to stop at one, _read the damn notes_. At least the first two lines.

Millennia had passed for Cybertron since the leaders and elite of the warring factions had fled to the stars. Despite the ravaged world they'd left in their wake, those that remained let out a small sigh of relief, watched the sky fearfully for a century and some after all contact was lost, and finally accepted that the war had left them. Despite the distrust between the survivors, the Neutral holding between where Praxus had been and where Protihex still, somewhat, stood managed to gather enough of a population base to draw in alliances as it controlled much of what was left of Cybertron's resources.

Slowly, painfully, they led the effort to rebuild and revitalize Cybertron with critical attention paid to how to avoid the government that had generated the war in the first place.

By the time Megatron and Optimus Prime found their way back, they encountered a world that was prepared to defend itself from both forces and capable of doing so. In the short but savage battle that followed, both rogue forces were defeated and the survivors given a choice: find a way to co-exist in the relative freedom of a rehabilitation town, or be rehabilitated in prison and executed if that failed.

Thirty vorns later and the leadership of Cybertron was less than thrilled with the lack of progress the two heavily armed camps in the town had made. They'd tried to remove all the weapons and high grade only to find out that it increased injuries and fights, and didn't really change the number of weapons. Both sides had been improvising and doing their own field repairs for far too long not to know how to make blasters and high grade out of pretty much anything. The only law that seemed to really make an impact was the desperate move to punish _everyone_ for any and every crime. It at least kept the fighting to a dull roar.

So they proposed forcing the two groups' leadership to _understand_ the other side by bonding with his opponent's SIC. Starscream howled in outrage, Prowl went completely stiff and neither leader was pleased. Yet all agreed given the alternative of prison or worse if they didn't make better progress towards rejoining the society that some had forgotten how to exist in and too many had never known how to exist in.

Thus Prowl stepped into Megatron's home, a nice four-room apartment with a balcony on the top floor of one of the seven short towers the survivors inhabited in this rehabilitation town of twenty-three former Decepticons and seventeen former Autobots. It was finer than what most had, but as a leader that was suiting. It was far larger and nicer than Prowl had, though that was purely by choice. The former Autobot SIC tried not to twitch in displeasure at the thought of living here. It didn't matter what Megatron had in mind for their existence as a bonded couple; Prowl wanted nothing of it. He simply wanted to be reformatted less. Though as he took in the plush furniture and entertainment center, he was beginning to reconsider. He could still back out, request a reformat and force Jazz to take his place. All it would cost him would be his memories. He already knew the deal from when Bluestreak and several others had taken it. A cosmetic retrofit to a different frametype, a new face, a new designation and the paperwork buried in a way that only his new creator would be able to untangle. It all led to a new function in society and a completely clean start.

Prowl ached for the idea even as he knew that anyone who wanted to find him would be able to, just as the gestalts would be easy to find, reformatted or not. His tactical computer was too specialized, too integrated, too distinctive a mark on his behavior for him to remain hidden in plain sight. Though the number of former Decepticons that had the intellect to figure it out was fairly limited, they were also among the most dangerous of the lot.

"Prowl," Megatron's greeting tone was calm, even ... warm? He had two cubes of high grade in hand when he motioned the Praxian to sit once they were done assessing the other. He offered a cube to Prowl and watched it placed on the side table without so much as a sniff or scan. "You trust me that little, even given the circumstances?" He lifted an optic ridge.

"I do not consume high grade," Prowl said simply before drawing a datapad from subspace. He ignored Megatron's incredulous look with practiced ease. Even as an enforcer he'd dealt with that look often. Being permitted to do his duties without interference was all he'd ever wanted, yet it seemed to be the most difficult thing for others to grasp. His pleasure _was_ his work. His relaxation was in tactics. Dealing with overcharged mecha and personal relationships were all stress and no benefit.

"What do you drink to celebrate, then?" Megatron prodded, all too aware that finding _some_ common ground with this mech would make existence far more tolerable. Soundwave had been of little help for once. Even the telepath could find out next to nothing of a personal nature about the Praxian that wasn't in his public file.

Prowl regarded him blandly. "I do not."

"When things have gone particularly badly?" Megatron asked, unable to believe what he was hearing and yet knowing that with their bonding all but set there was no point to Prowl even stretching the truth.

"I work harder," Prowl forced himself not to display his irritation. It had been _millennia_ since he'd endured the 'what do you do for fun' interrogation and he was _not_ in the mood for it. "May we move on to something relevant?"

Megatron was all too aware of the dumbfounded expression he was wearing, but it still took him a moment to wipe it away. What could _possibly_ be more relevant than getting to know the mecha you were going to bond to? Still ... "very well."

Prowl inclined his helm, immune to that look too. "How many creations do you expect?"

"What?" Megatron didn't even try to stop his expression this time.

"How many creations do you expect?" Prowl repeated calmly.

Was this what Prime and the Autobots dealt with every orn? Even Soundwave had more tells, and a good deal more inflection once you learned how to hear it. He was beginning to suspect that Soundwave had a stronger moral code too as he contemplated just how to respond. After a moment he decided to settle on the unpolished truth. There was little point in anything less given that Prowl would soon know anyway. "I never considered the idea before."

"Are you agreeable to never bring it up again?" Prowl asked in the same tone, careful to keep his hope from showing.

"No," Megatron refused, calm but firm. "I will _consider_ the idea and answer you when I decide."

"When you decide, we can negotiate," Prowl gave a clear warning that he was not going to simply accept whatever Megatron said. "How often do you expect to interface?"

"What kind of questions are these?" the gray mech growled.

"An assessment of how much energy and time I will be obliged to compensate for," Prowl responded with blunt coolness, earning another stunned look.

That look turned into a scowl as deep red optics tried to bore into ice blue, only to realize that Prowl was immune to it. Megatron leaned back in his chair and took a long, slow drink of his high grade as he reevaluated the situation and plan. He'd been expecting a reluctant Autobot, someone who was likely afraid of him and would need to be convinced that he preferred to be a lover and was not just a rapist. Before him was an Autobot who wasn't afraid of him and was giving every signal of preferring that he be used, rather than enjoy what was being demanded of him. It went against everything Megatron thought he knew of his former enemies. Pit, even Starscream wanted to enjoy it when the choice to interface or not was no longer an option.

"Why are you here?" Megatron demanded, putting his focus into conversing as he would with Soundwave or Shockwave. Facts, logic, goals, requirements. It would reach an emotional level eventually, but not this orn.

"I have the least to lose and the lowest cost to lose should you betray the agreement," Prowl said simply, only explaining when that dumbfounded look returned. "I am no longer suited for my former function and my current one is no longer relevant. Cybertron will lose very little if I extinguish. I have little desire to be reformatted a fourth time when what I am is not useful whether Prowl is running it or not."

It took Megatron a long moment to untangle that, but when he did the first real glimmer of hope. "Then why are you still functioning?"

"Prime will not release me from my commission." Prowl replied, not quite able to hide the bitterness that the only thing he had asked for for himself had been denied.

A low hum rumbled up from Megatron's chassis as he reviewed what he'd learned. "You were a Praxian Enforcer, an Autobot tactician, and ?"

"Special Operations agent," Prowl said without shame, pride or sense that it was a real secret.

"Which is why it was never in your records," Megatron hummed. "Do you have a lover?"

"No," Prowl twitched, his displeasure at the very concept evident to those who looked close enough. "How often do you expect to interface with me?" he asked again, his temper cooling as fast as it has risen.

Another long sip of high grade delayed the answer, but not by enough to irritate. "I expect any mecha in my berth to want to be there. However, I expect there will be unwelcome questions if we do not at least try to be mates." A huff greeted Prowl's attempt to ask a third time. "When one of us has the desire and we both have the energy," Megatron snapped. "At least once every five orns. I can find attention elsewhere if I want it."

"I am sure," Prowl said, doing little to hide what context he expected that attention to be in, or that he only cared in an abstract way.

"Have you ever interfaced?" Megatron suddenly asked before Prowl could speak further.

"No," the answer was smooth, calm, with just a hint of 'why would I want to?'

Megatron scowled. The only mecha he knew of with that attitude were either missing the protocols, or had been abused over a period of time. Yet they wouldn't have sent Prowl without the protocols and you had to have interfaced to be abused that way. It didn't make sense. "Why not?"

"I never desired to and was never forced," Prowl flicked his doorwings in a shrug, accepting the confusion and disbelief he always received to that first part. "Why is it so difficult to grasp that I simply do not desire to?"

"It's not _right_!" Megatron couldn't quite stop the snarl.

Prowl gave a slight x-vent, his will to keep this on track waning. He really did want it over so he could begin to adapt to his new role. It couldn't be any more painful than sending mecha to extinguish every orn. "I have had the protocols since I came on line. I have all the equipment. Every medic to examine me has confirmed that all is in operational order. I simply do not find interfacing appealing."

"At all?" Megatron asked just to buy himself a little time to process that.

"At all," Prowl confirmed without care. "We will interface, merge and bond as is required. It is not a difficult concept or choice."

The large gray mech settled, regarding his bonded-to-be and contemplating how to overcome _that_ attitude. He never expected love, but at least _some_ compatibility in the berth really was needed for anything to last. "When will your things arrive?" he asked, hoping to move past Prowl's questionnaire.

"I brought my personal items with me," Prowl responded, recognizing the distraction for what it was but willing to go with it for now.

Once more Megatron cycled his optics in surprise, but this time he stood and motioned Prowl to follow. "I had a room configured for your office/berthroom. You can settle in tonight. We will speak in the morning."

Prowl nodded without question and stood to follow, relieved and content to be allowed his work for the rest of the orn. It was all he'd ever wanted.

* * *

Prowl settled at the simple desk after a trip to the energon dispenser in the apartment and gave a small thought of thanks to the mech who was _trying_ to make him comfortable. It was far more than he'd expected, if he was honest. His room was simply adorned, utterly functional and contained everything he needed to perform his current function as the town's resource manager and primary liaison with the world government along with Soundwave. It was a pathetically simple duty for a system designed and trained to run an intergalactic civil war, but it kept him at least moderately sane. It was _work_ , meaningful, useful work, no matter how far below his capacity.

For a too-long nanoklik Prowl was still, grieving the loss of yet another function he had been good at, that he'd enjoyed performing for the most part. He hated reading how plans went wrong, but making them, anticipating and seeing how he'd stymied the Decepticons and managed supply flows so the army ran smoothly was a pleasure. He took what satisfaction he could now in the simple tasks allotted to him, but he wasn't delusional about it. He knew that his current function, and seeing what had been accomplished in his absence, had done more to break his will than anything the war had done.

He was obsolete. Not for lack of upgrades, but because he was too specialized and too linked to the war. He could manage the world, but _they_ didn't want a war-mech anywhere near that kind of power and he couldn't blame them. They were already treating the defeated armies with more compassion than ... well, either Autobots or Decepticons would, at least if he had any say in it. He would have argued strongly for mass execution, at least under a Prime other than Optimus. He knew it was pointless to even voice such an option to Optimus, so he never had. He simply 'suggested' to Jazz when a certain prisoner needed to have an 'accident' before the Prime arranged for their freedom. His former CO was typically happy to oblige and they shared enough commonality from Ops training to get the point across without actually saying anything damning. They could both count on Red Alert to help cover up anything that was spotted by the security systems. The three of them from Ops were a powerful collective quietly getting the work done that the Prime didn't have the spark for.

Now all three were drifting worse than most of the Autobot army. Prowl had quietly grieved when Red Alert had been taken away to be reformatted after the medical investigation, backed by Ratchet, determined that his glitch could not be corrected while he had so much psychological trauma from the war. After that, Prowl had wondered how long it would be before the medical order came and he was escorted away.

Part of him was looking forward to it. The survivor he'd become insisted he'd fight as hard as Red Alert had, but the rest of his processors knew that he'd go quietly, much as Bluestreak had. To leave both armies with a final image of him as a proud, composed and logical mech. There would be no sedation needed, no security detail. He would calmly walk away with them as he did every metacycle for the meetings, only that time he would not come back.

Prowl quivered at the thought of having a fresh start. A new function, a new existence, with nothing of the strange mixture of cold and fierce that he'd become. He didn't like that he'd learned to hate.

"Cred for your thoughts?" Megatron's voice rumbled, low and calm, across the room.

Prowl actually startled, so tied up in trying to cancel useless threads of thought that he didn't realize the large mech had opened the door. Absently he noted that while the door was open, Megatron had not entered. It was more respect than anyone usually gave him.

Why did that matter?

He shoved that thread into the delete spool and played back Megatron's words to form a response.

Despite his first thought being _you said we'd talk in the morning_ , Prowl didn't say that. Instead he looked up at deep red optics and contemplated the mech, once so powerful, and like himself, reduced to nothing. "How do you stand having no function worth the title?"

Megatron hummed. "May I come in?" he motioned towards the only other place to sit in the room, the berth sized and suited for Prowl's frame and far too small for Megatron to lie on. It was a detail intended to give the Praxian a sense that this room was _his_ space, and not one Megatron would invade.

Prowl nodded towards the berth and shifted his chair to face the tank-former.

"The same way I handled being a miner, a guttersmech, a gladiator, a revolutionary, a prisoner and a warlord," he said simply and evenly, noting the sharp focus he had from his audience and wanting even more to _understand_ what was going on behind the stiffly neutral faceplates. Where was this mech when he was first recruiting? He had long seemed more suited for the revolution than the government. "I focus on this orn. What needs to be done. What can not be ignored. How do I make it happen. Even if what needs to be done is to pace around a room not three lengths by five so I don't go stir crazy. How do you handle it?" he took the opening to learn a bit more about his intended bonded.

"Poorly," Prowl faintly shrugged a doorwing and glanced towards the desk. "It seems I invent work."

"Whatever gets you through the orn," Megatron repeated firmly, understanding all too well the strain of having too much time on his hands and too few duties. Like so much of both armies, he lacked a focus, a purpose, and was beginning to think that just maybe Prowl was the best thing to happen in a long time. Between them, they likely could take over.

"I suppose so," Prowl murmured thoughtfully, then seemed to catch a glint in Megatron's optics. "You're plotting."

It was Megatron's turn to be startled. "Yes, I suppose I was," he acknowledged with a chuckle. "We would make an unstoppable team."

"In a different time or place, perhaps," Prowl accepted the assessment. "Here and now, perhaps we will manage well enough to get out and have something to _do_."

Another hum and Megatron regarded Prowl thoughtfully. "Will you ever be content, though? You wielded more practical power than the Prime for the entire war. Nothing will come close to that."

"Unlike you, I never desired power," Prowl countered evenly. "I simply desired to be productive."

"Desired?" Megatron prodded carefully, all too aware of how dangerous a strong but quiet mecha was when pressed the wrong way and less than familiar with picking up on when Prowl might be nearing that point. "What is it you desire now?"

A deep huff was the first reply, a sound of annoyance that wasn't directed at Megatron but himself. "The same." He paused, then admitted, "and to be challenged."

"You doubt you will ever be challenged again," Megatron carefully checked the flare of excitement he felt at learning such a useful tidbit.

"Yes," Prowl murmured, uneasy at speaking such things, especially before the mech he had spent so long trying to off-line. Yet he was determined not to lie, even by omission. He could, _did_ respect the effort Megatron was putting into getting to know him and make him comfortable. He still didn't understand how it would matter given they would soon bond, but he understood that it represented the warlord's intentions towards him, towards how their pairing might exist for however long it lasted.

A small smile crossed Megatron's features. "What if I could give you a worthy challenge once more?" he purred, the smile extending at the flash of Prowl's optics. It might be well concealed by lifelong practice, but he knew desire when he saw it. It was how he'd built up his army in the beginning. That personal connection and offer of something the other _wanted_.

"We'll be executed if we begin the war again," Prowl cautioned, though tellingly he didn't outright refuse. Deactivation doing his _function_ was too temping in his weakest moments. Actually _winning_ , even if he was executed for treason, or murder, or whatever the current rulers of Cybertron decided to charge him with, was a thrill he was sorely tempted by more every orn. A temptation that Prime had always kept firmly in check, but here, as Megatron's mate?

The ever so faint tremor wasn't lost on Megatron, but neither were the consequences. Unlike his destined bonded, he had no intention of being executed for anything. He hadn't survived this long, nor gone from miner to warlord by being unwilling to change the game or the rules. It was a skill that the mech before him had far more difficulty with.

"Only if it is physical combat," Megatron purred, leaning forward intently. "What about building and managing an empire of another kind? The financial kind."

Prowl regarded Megatron, long and slow as he fed the idea to his tactical computer and emotional protocols. It wouldn't be the same, but the financial world was intensely complex, ever-changing and gave real rewards and penalties for one's actions. His spark and processor gave him a jolt of excitement at the challenge of mastering it, knowing he never could because it was intimately entwined with the choices of other mecha.

"The limits on our personal wealth, while extravagant by all but Mirage's standards, will severely hamper anything that can be classified as an empire," Prowl mused out loud. "As will being barred from politics."

Megatron grunted in grudging acceptance of both truths. "A challenge for you, then. How to win without breaking our parole."

With a nod Megatron stood. He knew from working with Soundwave and Shockwave for so long how to read when the conversation was over and they were deep in thinking mode. "Enjoy your evening," he told Prowl and left. He was planning to enjoy his, though not in the way he knew most would expect. He had a cube of quality high grade with a few lead shavings for sweetness and the latest best selling murder mystery bookfile to read. It would keep him occupied well past midnight, and he was relishing the opportunity.

* * *

Six orns slid into seven, then twelve, and Megatron had yet to try to touch Prowl. He talked, knowing from the onset that information and communication was the key to winning the Praxian over. He'd known from the beginning that this bonding was his to make or break in terms of how tolerable it would be, and how long he survived it. Though the subject was never broached, he knew without any doubt that Prowl was willing, and more importantly able, to tear his own spark out if it meant ridding the universe of Megatron. Their early conversations only reinforced that certainty. So it was on Megatron to ensure that Prowl never reached the point where deactivation was an appealing enough option to take.

His second move was to quietly add simple metallic additives to the standard grade that Prowl favored and watch his reaction to the new flavors. It was as informative as talking in its own way. Sweet things, like what Megatron and most mecha preferred, were accepted, but the acidic, bitter ones went down much more quickly. When he found the one that made Prowl give a tiny sigh of pleasure, he delivered that at mid-orn, an experiment at breakfast and plain standard grade in the evening and watched as Prowl relaxed into the routine.

He was never more thankful for the lessons in communication, logic and reading very subtle frame language and inflection than right now. Prowl was quickly becoming easier to read than Soundwave, between the exposed face and mobile doorwings, and a key lesson was routine. Prowl liked it, thrived in it, and Megatron could see, even feel, the positive changes now that Prowl had a _goal_ to challenge his intellect.

Just now, when he'd handed Prowl his evening energon, their fingers touched and Prowl's field was ... almost open. For such a mech, that was an invitation and not something to waste. It was also not something to rush. Their energon went down quietly, both occupied by thoughts.

There was a brief moment where Megatron tensed sharply, startled to realize that Prowl had managed to stand and cross the two paces between them and touch him before he'd realized the Praxian had moved. He forced the tension to dissipate and extended his field questioningly towards Prowl.

Prowl's hand was still light on his shoulder, his field an uneasy mixture of uncomfortable and determined. "May I join you tonight?"

The first flare of arousal burst across Megatron's field, only to make Prowl suppress a flinch. The tank-former carefully checked it without suppressing the reaction completely. "That was not what you meant."

"It was," Prowl gave a deep x-vent. "There is little point to delaying the inevitable."

"Because you won't be any more comfortable with it than you are now," Megatron assessed.

"Affirmative," Prowl nodded slightly.

Smoothly Megatron stood and walked to his berthroom, a space far larger and more lavish than Prowl's, both because of his much larger frame and from personal taste. He still found it unsettling just how little Prowl had brought with him. Granted none of them had much when they'd arrived, but it had been more than long enough. Even the least financially cognizant of the former Decepticons had acquired a _few_ trinkets by now. Knowing they couldn't save much money, just what had Prowl done with his earnings? Megatron couldn't see him spending it on energon, and pleasurebots were ridiculous given the mech's attitude towards interfacing.

Yes, _that_ was going to be interesting, and no doubt very frustrating, but at least by morning he'd know if it was fear/distaste that kept Prowl's interface drive suppressed, or something intellectual. All things considered, Megatron was banking on the latter. Nothing in Prowl's profile or the past few orns made Megatron believe that fear or distaste were much by way of motivation for Prowl.

Goals, now that was another matter. His mate-to-be was driven to compete and excel, even though he didn't recognize it. The desire for power and recognition, though not of quite the same flavor as Megatron's own desires, were still similar enough for easy manipulation.

A low rumble of anticipation vibrated Megatron's plating, and true to form Prowl gave no physical reaction. He wasn't happy though, and that wasn't being hidden very well any more.

"What did you have in mind for tonight?" Megatron asked, both to distract Prowl and to get a better idea what the tactician had in mind.

"For you to lead," Prowl answered simply. "My research gave me nothing I did not already know."

"When did you start watching porn?" Megatron managed not to chuckle as the door to his berthroom closed behind them.

"When I learned of this ultimatum," Prowl actually rumbled in displeasure. It was the strongest response Megatron had witnessed so far from him. Prowl might have begun to see things he liked in Megatron, but the current government was not so lucky. Given enough time and gentle manipulation, Prowl would look to them as a threat to be eliminated.

"And letting me do as I please was the best you came up with?" he raised an optic ridge at the smaller mech, who simply shrugged.

"Nothing I saw was any more or less appealing than the rest," Prow informed him. "Variations on a theme and nothing more."

"You didn't get very far then," Megatron did chuckle this time, but motioned Prowl to his berth and watched as the Praxian lay on his back and looked at him with calm features and an uneasy field. "I will be gentle," Megatron promised as he slid one knee onto the berth, then leaned over this untouched mech that was so very trusting of him in this moment. How long had it been since _anyone_ had given him such latitude?

It was a rush like little else. Trust. Trust from a mecha who knew entirely too well what he was capable of. Trust that was not yet required. It was intoxicating.

It was also a reminder of just how important the next few breems were to their future. A mecha's first time left lasting scars, both good and bad. A bad enough scar and Prowl would never willingly interface again given his already dodgy outlook on it. While that could be worked around, it was not what Megatron wanted. He wanted to coax desire, even if only occasional, from his former enemy.

With all that firmly in processor, Megatron leaned forward to kiss Prowl. The response, an awkward attempt to kiss back, was welcome, even if the lack of any desire or any effort to touch was disappointing.

Still, a Praxian was a Praxian, and the parts that could make a mecha scream in agony could usually make that mecha writhe in pleasure as well. Shifting his weight Megatron reached up to stroke along the sensitive plating of the doorwings where they sensed air currents in vehicle mode. Yet Prowl didn't even react to the touch, not even in his field.

Megatron drew his helm back slightly to watch Prowl's features as he stroked again.

"War-frame," Prowl told him. "I barely have pressure and temperature sensors on my outer plating."

It was enough to stun the larger mech into staring. "And Ratchet never fixed that?"

Prowl actually scoffed. "Waste precious resources on a complicated and dangerous to install upgrade that wasn't requested? Those sensors were better used by mecha who needed them, or at least wanted them."

"They aren't precious now, and you _do_ have use for them," Megatron pointed out, trailing his fingers along Prowl's frame. Only over his spark was there a response, and that was the expected locking and expanding of armor to better protect the spark that drove the frame.

"I have pleasure sensors where they're needed," Prowl merely shrugged. He still had no use for it, any of it, and the procedure was still complicated and high risk. Not that he cared much about the risk anymore, but it was still without purpose and that was too grating a fact to accept.

The tank-former explored Prowl's frame with a light touch, even exploring his wheels and hands where even primitive designs had a heavy sensor load.

"War-frame," Prowl reminded him, sorely tempted to allow his processor to turn to one of the tactical games he had uploaded so he wouldn't have to deal with the boredom until Megatron convinced himself of the truth. "I have the sensors I need, nothing more."

Almost reluctantly Megatron cupped his hand over the interface hatch cover between Prowl's legs. He really did prefer to have that open out of arousal, but he knew how to make due. This wasn't his first dance.

The cover slid open under that light touch, the sound that of well-milled parts in good working order. There was no heat however, no hint that the spike wished to free itself. Only a faint scent of valve lubricant spoke of any readiness, and Megatron knew that it wasn't from arousal. There wasn't a warrior functioning or past that didn't know how to ease the passage of a spike they didn't want. Even if Prowl was more willing than that, it wasn't by much.

"Have you touched yourself?" Megatron asked with a lusty rumble as he teased the spike housing with the tip of a finger.

"Of course," Prowl glared up. "With my hands and toys. I became bored before much of a charge built up."

Megatron couldn't help it. He shook his helm in disbelief. There was no possible way this wasn't a glitch. It just wasn't possible.

Another light circle, this time with just a bit more pressure and Prowl's vents hitched as his hips rolled into the contact. He off-lined his optics and turned himself over to the interface protocols. They'd never seemed to work before, but he'd never felt a touch like this before either.

A low, rumbling chuckle escaped Megatron as he continued to tease the spike housing, patient in a way that few were aware he was capable of until Prowl's spike began to emerge. There still wasn't much heat, but all the other signals were there. As the latches fully disengaged, Megatron ran his fingers over the tip of the emerging spike, drawing his first moan from Prowl.

"Well, there's nothing wrong with your responses once you touch the right spot," Megatron chuckled even as he noticed that Prowl's field had shifted. It didn't _feel_ like the same mech. The intensity had dropped, and though it was still smooth, cool and organized, it wasn't at all like he'd become acquainted with. "Prowl?"

"Mmm?" Ice blue optics lit to stare at him without comprehension.

"Your field shifted."

"Protocols turned off my tactical systems," he murmured, distracted by the charge in his systems and having most of his intellect off-line.

"It makes that big a difference?" an optic ridge lifted as he focused on coaxing Prowl's spike fully out.

"Guess so," Prowl moaned and arched shamelessly into the touch, _wanting_ for the first time.

"You ... guess ... so?" Megatron stared at him, though his attention on stroking and learning every micron of the emerging spike never wavered. A soft hum escaped the former warlord. "That tactical system really is a massive chunk of you, isn't it?"

The question reordered Prowl's priorities, dropping the interface protocols down enough to boot the systems that could answer that adequately. "It was what I was built to support. All non-vital systems came much later, after Praxus fell and I was permanently assigned to the war effort."

Megatron paused as he grappled with that information. The more he learned the more he realized that Prowl was exactly the kind of mecha he'd begun the war to free, but for a single fact; Prowl was only now becoming dissatisfied with the system. It was beginning to have the ring of a very, very bad joke. A dock worker, a miner and a frameless tactician. They should have all been on the same side. They were all the kind of mecha the system suppressed and abused. How had it become so different a war than the one he'd intended?

"So ... are we going to talk, or interface?" Prowl broke into Megatron's musings.

"You can't do both?" an optic ridge was raised, attempting to tease.

"Not well," Prowl grumbled. "I wasn't designed to multitask like this."

"Interface," Megatron chuckled at the scowl he received and leaned down to kiss it away while his fingers returned to mapping the half-exposed spike between them. It was a simple design of the kind built after the war was well underway. Likely after Optimus Prime was in charge, all things considered.

Prowl's optics flickered off with a moan as his frame crackled with energy and his core temperature shot up once the interface protocols had top priority once more. He rolled his hips into the touch, into the pleasure that his own touch didn't provide. The conflict between the two experiences was almost enough to bring his tactical systems on line to analyze it, but he forced it into a low-priority queue to run while he recharged.

In this moment the only thing that mattered was the pleasure and accepting that it existed. The much more tricky process of accepting that it was _worth_ the time and energy it required would come later. If it came at all for Prowl's higher processors.

"Stop thinking," Megatron rumbled close to Prowl's audial and closed his hand around the fully pressurized spike and began to stroke it with a measured touch. "Just feel."

It was a command that Prowl accepted with a shuddering moan and roll of his hips, seeking what his protocols knew was coming but he couldn't begin to grasp. Blindly his hands came up to grip at the hard armored chestplate above him while the pleasure rolled through him in waves that crested higher with each cycle.

Above him Megatron watched with bright optics, drinking in the utterly different appearance Prowl had when he wasn't controlling himself. The heat beginning to rise from Prowl's frame changed the scent of the lubricant in his valve, drawing a rumble of arousal from the tank-former. He licked his lip plates and shifted to his haunches, never slowing his meticulous attention to the spike that was drawing such lovely sounds and scents from his mate.

Carefully two fingers of his free hands traced around the rim of Prowl's valve, testing the heat, the viscosity of the lubricant and how swollen the platelets were with arousal. All the physical markers for how ready the mech was to be penetrated, but even more enticing was the chassis-deep moan the touch enticed Prowl to utter. Of all the disadvantages Prowl's lack of desire created, he also had never learned to dislike being penetrated either.

A gasping shout, startled and stressed, snapped Megatron's attention to Prowl's face just in time to watch his optics flare white and unseeing and every feature loosen with the waves of pleasure crashing through him. Prowl's hips jerked sharply, sending a burst of crackling, sticky transfluid through the air to splatter on his abdominals with each motion.

His own temperature skyrocketing, Megatron released his spike to pressurize fully as quickly as fluid could enter it. He crushed his mouth against Prowl's and pressed into the slick, spasming channel with a single smooth stroke, drawing a sharp, unintelligible cry from his lover. The Praxian's frame was very understandable though. Calipers cycled and closed around the long, thick intruder. Sensors calibrated to signal pleasure with pressure ravaged Prowl's awareness and drew his hips into the motion, seeking to take more of the intruder inside him.

"So _tight_ ," Megatron moaned as he drew back, then thrust in again. No matter how exquisite it felt, he found the will to withdraw and drive forward, again and again, his entire will centered on bringing his berthmate to a valve overload before he let himself go and filled this mech, this mate that _only he_ had ever touched.

* * *

Megatron booted when his proximity sensors informed him that his berthmate was booting, and brought him on line while Prowl still appeared to be in full recharge. It allowed him a moment to watch the mech, still covered in the evidence of the previous evening, with the slack features of recharge. It was a rare moment to appreciate the classic strength of Iaconian artistry, the same artistry that had created Optimus Prime. He'd never bothered to wonder why Prowl's features were so much stronger than those of his fellow Praxian survivors. Knowing that the features weren't Praxian, even if the protoform had been, explained a great deal.

After the impressive success of the evening and that Prowl had _remained_ after regaining awareness, no matter how briefly, Megatron dared to reach out and stroke down the strong armor that protected the spark that would too-soon be bonded to his own. Prowl tensed at the touch and shifted to a rapid-boot that would enable his sensors and motor control before it worried about his upper processors.

Without hesitation Megatron withdrew. While he had no fear of Prowl, a fight was not what he wanted, nor, particularly, the reminder that Prowl had Ops coding in him.

With the touch gone, Prowl finished the boot cycle and turned his helm to look at Megatron, confirming what his memory files told him to expect. It was such a strange sensation not to find being this close to the warlord a threat to bolt from. It went against almost his entire functioning, yet it was true and he had to adapt.

Megatron reached out to stroke Prowl's plating once more when he was sure the mech was fully aware. "Enjoy last night?" he purred, rather looking forward to a repeat.

"I have not decided," Prowl responded as he ran a few more detailed system checks when it registered that his entire pelvic girdle _ached_.

"You seemed to be enjoying it at the time," Megatron smashed down his concern and waited for facts.

"It was very pleasurable," Prowl corrected evenly. "I have not decided if I enjoyed it."

Megatron scowled. "Why would you not enjoy when it was pleasurable and you were willing?"

A low huff escaped Prowl's vents as he rolled to his pedes. He suppressed the wince at the valve's objection to the movement and alarm at the sensation of thick fluid dribbling down his inner legs from inside him. He knew it to be transfluid and lubricant, not energon, but it was still not a sensation he associated with good things. "If I enjoyed what we did, it was pleasurable enough to be worth initiating again. I have not determined if the pleasure was worth the time and energy it required. I am going to clean up now," he said simply.

Though his stride as he left the room was smooth, Megatron could sense what he couldn't see; he hadn't stretched his lover enough and Prowl was suffering. Inwardly cursing himself at such a careless mistake, he got to his pedes, only to pause. Prowl had indicated pleasure, time and energy were the factors in whether he enjoyed what they'd done. Discomfort was not on that list, and undoubtedly the tactician was aware that it shouldn't be there.

Reminding himself of two core truths about Prowl, that the mech processed everything and that he said he needed time, Megatron walked to the energon dispenser in the living room corner and poured two cubes of energon. His hand paused after adding the lead shavings to his own when he reached for a packet of powdered tremolite for Prowl's. Yes, expanding Prowl's horizons was the morning ritual, but the comfort of his preferred energon might be a better idea at the moment. He was hiding it well, but for Prowl to still be _processing_ something this many joors later it must have unsettled him a great deal.

Even thirty vorns into the forced peace Megatron jolted to combat readiness, his fusion cannon whining to readiness when sirens assaulted his audials. The energon forgotten, he stared at Prowl as he bolted towards the balcony and _leapt off_ , sirens blazing.

After a nanoklik of shock, Megatron ran to the balcony and looked down, expecting to see a broken frame at the bottom of the low tower that he lived on the top floor of. Instead he watched Prowl using magnetic generators in his palms and toeholds to jump and slid his way down, drawing attention as he moved. The former Decepticons looked up, checking the mood of their leader, before going back to whatever they'd been doing before.

::Megatron. Assistance requested at The Finder's Fee. Major brawl in progress,:: Soundwave's comm arrived just as Megatron was debating whether to track down the Praxian or leave him to the duties he seemed to enjoy.

::Who?:: Megatron demanded even as he moved for the lift to the ground floor. Unlike Prowl, Megatron knew his greatest impact came with a purposeful stalk onto the scene rather than rushing there.

::Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Springer, Hot Rod, Brawn, Thundercracker, Thrust, Thrust, Runamuck, Runabout are primary at the moment. Stunticons are coming. Prime has been alerted. Prowl is in visual range,:: came the reply. 

::What started this?:: Megatron growled darkly as he stepped onto the sidewalk and transformed, literally daring anything else to challenge his right of way. He knew none of the few who might would today.

Soundwave paused. ::Skywarp began the confrontation. Sunstreaker struck the first blow.::

There was a pause on the line that Megatron recognized as Soundwave being startled and allowed a moment for him to continue.

::Recommendation: spar with Prowl often. He fights ... well.::

That tidbit was filed away as Megatron came onto a sight he was well familiar with, and from the way Prowl had waded into the fray, the former Autobot SIC was too. He watched the Praxian frame move, smoothly blocking blows from both sides with precision strikes that dropped mecha where they'd stood. A moment later a sound Megatron didn't recognize other than as metal on metal drew his attention to Springer as the small triple changer dropped where he stood.

That sound had an effect that Prowl's mega-volume orders, Soundwave's telepathy and even Megatron and Prime's appearances couldn't. Every former Autobot other than Prowl scattered before the harsh yells of the town's resident CMO, Ratchet.

"Enough!" Prime bellowed and even Megatron flinched slightly at the coiled fury in his voice and the bright flare of blue optics. For the first time in thirty vorns the battle mask was on and heavy rifle was in hand. But it was the marks on his frame that made everyone cringe. Even more so when they realized that _both_ leaders had been dragged out of their mate's berth far too early in the morning.

"Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Springer, Hot Rod, Brawn, Thundercracker, Thrust, Thrust, Runamuck, Runabout. Brig. Now," Prowl's voice claimed dominance. His order was a shock to the former Decepticons still, the idea that they were expected to see themselves there, but even on their first orn it had been clear that the Autobots were quite used to it, and had learned not to try and avoid the order. They cringed and helped pick up those that were unconscious to trudge to the brig that was designed to handle two dozen mecha at a time.

With so much of the gathering cleared, it became apparent why the instigator hadn't been part of the brawl. Sunstreaker's first punch had sent the errant Seeker through two walls and into a storeroom, but at least he was still functional to judge by Ratchet's virulent cursing when he and Hook dragged the half mangled form out.

"Prowl, Prime," Soundwave caught their attention. "Soundwave: will handle this situation. Fatalities: zero. Investigation and punishment: internal. Prime, Megatron, Prowl: have more important duties to tend to."

Optimus Prime glared at him, then gave a curt nod and transformed to drive back to his home and to Starscream.

Prowl glanced at the area, accepted that the injured were being taken care of and that Soundwave would do the job that needed to be done competently and to the letter of the laws as they had been written, just as Prowl did. In their compatibility to the written law they had developed a form of trust that they spoke with the same moral code once terms were agreed to.

"Prowl," Megatron stepped into the conversation. "Come with me."

The Praxian considered the order for a fractional moment, then nodded and transformed to drive at Megatron's pace. To Megatron, it was a gift to finally have someone who wouldn't fight him at every turn. There may be an argument coming, but Prowl had the sense of decorum, like Soundwave, to keep such a challenge out of sight of the rank and file.

They traveled in silence all the way to the living room. Megatron returned to the energon cubes he'd abandoned at Soundwave's call, tracking Prowl's movement to the washrack, a luxury to have in the apartment. With a thoughtful hum he set the energon on the table and followed Prowl to the washrack. While the Praxian ignored his presence, simply standing under the spray as armor shifted, flared and retracted to allow the solvent into every crevice, Megatron went to the wall compartment that held various non-detailing items he kept on hand.

"Was there any energon when you cleaned your valve?" Megatron asked, keeping his voice carefully modulated for neutrality. Even the most steady of mecha could be hard to predict if they'd been injured during an interface, especially their first with someone. "I could tell you were in discomfort when you got up," he explained at Prowl's sharp look.

"There was no energon in the fluids," Prowl replied stiffly and reached for a brush to scrub himself down with. "I was not damaged."

Megatron stepped close and extended his field, the edges relaxed in an offer to mingle. Even without that connection he could feel that Prowl wasn't at ease with him this close anymore.

"I should have spent more time preparing you," he murmured. It galled him to admit to any wrong, but pits have it, it was better than having Prowl decide he hated interfacing. "You shouldn't feel any discomfort, even with the size difference," he put a hand on Prowl's shoulder, forcing their fields into stronger contact and tried to read more accurately what Prowl was reacting to. He found it difficult to believe that _discomfort_ was enough to upset him this much.

"Why didn't you, then?" Prowl asked, reluctantly leaning into the touch to try to acclimate to it. It had taken centuries for Jazz to be allowed to touch unpunished. He did not have such a luxury with Megatron.

"You were so arousing, so slick," he struggled not to lay blame on Prowl. "I did not realize until I was inside you that I had miscalculated."

"It has been a very long time since your berthmate needed much preparation," Prowl assessed.

"Yes," Megatron admitted. "Your valve will adapt quickly to my size. The next few times we ... I need to take more care."

How much it grated on the warlord to say such things soothed Prowl in ways he hadn't anticipated. It made him relax, leaning into the touch a little more. It didn't take much to replace Megatron with Red Alert, though he never completely forgot who was touching him. He missed Red Alert, one of the very few who shared his focus on function and understood the purity of contentment that come with fulfilling what you'd been designed to do.

"Who are you thinking of?" Megatron's voice was low and surprisingly soft.

"Red Alert," Prowl answered, turning his faceplates into the spray and holding still for a moment before he went to work on his chestplates.

"You were close to him?" Megatron guessed, remembering the scene that had been the Autobot Security Director's departure vividly. It had been disturbing on a visceral level. Even Skywarp had looked away, not wishing to bear witness to it. It wasn't _right_ for outsiders to force that on any of them.

Looking back on it, it should have been notable for Prowl's absence.

"I suppose so," Prowl murmured. "We were both former SpecOps, both function-centric and custom built to perform our task. There is a ... comfort ... in having one who understands what you are."

"I can understand that," Megatron said, thinking back to the last time he felt that kind of kinship. It was all the way back in the mines, in those first few vorns after he'd been sparked and before the death and abuse all around him had changed him. Carefully he knelt behind Prowl, his hand trailing down the mech's back in a physical match of his movement. "Open up," he tapped Prowl's valve cover lightly and felt the mech tense sharply. "I have a gel to ease the discomfort and help your valve stretch."

There was a fraction of a moment's pause, then the cover slid open.

"We are to bond," Megatron reminded him as he coated his fingers in the thick gel. "It is in my best interest for you to enjoy my attentions."

"True," Prowl relaxed far more fully at the spoken reassurance that Megatron understood their situation and insight into his reasons. Reasons that Prowl understood easily and shared. He twitched faintly when large fingers circled his valve, caressing the platelets and dense ring of pleasure sensors. With his tactical computer fully engaged he wouldn't become aroused, he wouldn't feel much more than a pleasant tingle from the attention as the backup storage battery and surge protection systems that defended the most advanced and specialized tactical processor of his generation absorbed loose energy almost as fast as it could be generated. Yet he tried to enjoy that pleasant sensation and spread his legs slightly to give Megatron's large hand more room.

"Prowl," Megatron leaned forward so Prowl could feel his heat and mass against his lower back. "Turn off your tactical computer."

"Why?" he asked, startled by the request.

"So you feel the _pleasure_ in this," he explained, his voice deep and resonant with early arousal while two fingers gently pressed into the aching valve, soothing the stretched lining with the first caress of the gel. "The gel will work better with heat and lubricant."

Prowl's processors spun. He didn't particularly want to, he didn't like the dazed, unable to focus sensation it produced, and yet Megatron had given a valid reason. He was sure this would lead to another interface, but his valve needed to have that spike in it to become stretched for it, so it wasn't an unreasonable destination. He did need to become acclimated to interfacing, whether he found it worth the effort or not. He knew couples did not do well when they were not compatible in the berth, even if they were bonded. He still hoped that Megatron would spend most of his amorous nature on someone else once they'd settled in. For now, this was just another unsettling aspect to his orders.

"Very well," Prowl acquiesced and began to shut the tactical systems down, along with much of his other upper functions that were too integrated to separate easily. It left him dazed, his thoughts floating and made him eager to focus on the gentle pleasure between his legs. It was the only good thing in his reality at the moment and it easily filled his now limited awareness.

* * *

"You know, I never really thanked you," Jazz said quietly as he perched half on Prowl's office desk, watching the Praxian work on things so far beneath his ability it hurt to watch.

Prowl didn't look up when he answered, though he hardly needed to look at the datapad to write the report either. "There is nothing to thank me for. I was the logical choice."

"You know that's not true," Jazz huffed. "If _one_ of us has a future post-reformat, it's you. You've got the hardware to have a good existence."

"You'll do fine," Prowl actually softened his tone slightly. "You'll do very well as a performer. If they can end Bluestreak's nightmares and babbling, they can end your nightmares too."

"You've got access to them?" Jazz perked up, his optics sharp behind his visor.

"Not what you're thinking," he shook his helm. "Not well enough to find anyone, even if I was inclined to try."

Jazz settled back with a huff. "I suppose that's why they let you out. You want their plan to work."

"So do you," Prowl challenged blandly. "Even Red Alert has a better existence now that he doesn't have as many sensory overload issues."

"I think he's the only mech you ever considered a friend," Jazz observed, watching Prowl's reactions and trying to decipher the information he wasn't allowed to ask about.

"I never called him a friend," Prowl's tone darkened.

"He was one though," Jazz shook his helm. "A good friend when you needed one."

Prowl's entire frame stilled as he contemplated the statement and all it implied.

"It is not relevant," Prowl finally insisted, his last defense against Jazz's efforts, and went back to work on reports that he could do in his recharge.

"You know they could give you back everything the war took from you," Jazz countered, not ready to give up. He _hated_ losing agents, even ones that had long ago left his command. He was at least as war-weary as Prowl, and being the cause of Megatron's deactivation was a fate he'd gladly deactivate for. Unlike Prowl, he wasn't nearly so convinced that anyone still in this town once the leaders were gone would be spared.

"Yes, they could," Prowl agreed without budging in his determination. "However, I am far better suited to surviving a lengthy bonding to Megatron."

Jazz clenched his jaw at the simple truth. He could manage to convince Megatron he was in love with the slag-maker if he really set his processors to it, but the moment they bonded Jazz's intentions to kill would be laid bare. Prowl would never offer more than tolerating each other, but his threshold for the intolerable was far higher. It was hedging their bets in case the locals beat the odds of Prowl's calculations.

"So how's he treating you?" Jazz shifted his focus a bit, intent on learning all he could from such an inside source.

Prowl gave him a cold, baleful look that was ignored with the same manner that had eventually won Jazz the right to touch and what passed for Prowl's confidence.

"He is rational," Prowl grumbled the answer.

"And in the berth?" Jazz pressed.

Prowl shrugged. "I have nothing to compare it to."

Jazz could only groan and facepalm. "Seriously, mech, there are times I really wonder about you. Has he hurt you? Does he listen to what you want to do? Does he make sure you overload?"

"No. No. Yes." Prowl answered, knowing exactly what expression Jazz was wearing right now. "What I want is not an option."

"So he's actually been trying," Jazz mused, not really expecting a useful answer. "Never would have figured him for the type."

"As I said, he is rational. He is as motivated as I am to find an interfacing system we both find tolerable," Prowl said. "More motivated than I am, if he is as perceptive of character as I have gathered."

"He's worked out that a miserable or angry Prowl that can't figure a way out will be a grayed out Prowl," Jazz spoke a truth rarely even alluded to since this the forced bonding had been first brought up. "Megatron's many things, but chief among them is a survivor."

"Which means it is in his best interests to ensure that I continue to find more reasons to survive than not," Prowl reminded him of the first discussion they'd had on the subject. "Now will you leave me to my work?"

Jazz gave a sigh and shifted to his pedes, but took a step towards Prowl to put a hand on his shoulder. "Just remember, interfacing isn't just about what he wants."

"If I determine I enjoy interfacing, I will insist on including what appeals to me," Prowl gave what assurances he could, knowing the other would never grasp it fully.

"Orns like this make me regret letting you insist on remaining untouched," Jazz grumbled and shook his helm, but left. He knew Prowl wasn't going to respond. There was no point to it.

* * *

Megatron strode into the living room after his rounds to check on his troops, and _try_ to make nice with the remaining Autobots, and smiled privately. Prowl was there, sitting in the one luxury that he didn't scowl at anymore; a chair designed for his frame. It wasn't a luxury in Megatron's optics, but he knew it was to Prowl. It was one of their few debates that Megatron knew he'd demonstrably won, and it was well worth the processor ache and glares to see Prowl's frame relaxed in it as the Praxian read something ... probably some new how-to file while he listened to a half dozen newsfeeds from the outside.

Their tastes in reading may not have much in common, but the simple fact that they could sit and read in companionable enough silence was a blessing to Megatron given the other difficulties. He was used to relationships that worked in the berth but not out of it. Having reverse be true was a blow to his ego, but it was also a glimmer of hope for the long run. What was wrong in the berth they could work on, come to some kind of agreement on. That he felt a small flicker of warmth in his spark to see Prowl relaxing like a relatively normal mech in their living room was worth more than feeling the fire of lust for a lover spread out for him on the berth.

He knew he'd long respected the tactician, but he wasn't sure he'd ever _like_ him when this plan had been proposed. Prowl's work ethic, dedication and the surprisingly manipulative nature had begun to win Megatron over. Yet he knew what really turned him on was the simple fact that Prowl was willing to stand up and fight for what he believed in without screaming. He'd _yell_ , but only to be heard. When Megatron lost his temper, Prowl simply dropped the subject until things calmed down. It had been infuriating at first, but it hadn't taken long for Megatron to begin to appreciate the method. He knew he was being played, manipulated, but it was done in such a way that it didn't rile him the way Starscream's efforts had. It helped that while Prowl had an undeniable desire for power and control, even if he refused to admit to it, he had little desire for _command_. He was the perfect tactician and SIC, happy to direct from the shadows and make his master look good.

"Are you going to stand and stare or join me?" Prowl's low rumble was almost amused.

Megatron chuckled and walked over to the bookshelf to select something to read. "You are settling in nicely."

"I have never been one to resist the inevitable for long," Prowl responded simply. "Energy is better used to pursue what can be done."

Megatron hummed, thoughtful at that given the long war and for how much of it the Autobots believed they were losing. "Do you believe this double bonding will work?" He asked as sat in the large chair designed for him.

"It does have the highest probability of working, other than the plan to reformat everyone," Prowl said simply. "The greatest threat to adaptation is the government insistence that it happen quickly. They are not listening to the experts."

"Like you?" Megatron raised an optic ridge.

"Ratchet, and their own social workers that we have to deal with," Prowl corrected blandly. "It is unreasonable to expect millions of vorns of war trauma and whatever happened before to have smoothed out in less than a third of a century. Many Decepticons never learned how to function in their kind of society in the first place, and most Autobots have long forgotten the reality of it."

"True," Megatron rumbled, all too aware of the odds his soldiers faced and privately believed that reformatting, no matter how much he hated it, was going to be the fate of most of them, and they'd be better off for it.

"Have you decided whether you desire sparklings in the future?" Prowl came back to the question he asked every decaorn, a question that was the primary sticking point on their relationship going further. Prowl was not going to back down on getting an answer.

A low, grumbling huff escaped Megatron's vents. "Why must I answer that _now_?"

Prowl finally looked up, ice blue optics locking on Megatron's deep red. "Because the answer is important to me."

Megatron considered his intended bondmate's intensity and the question, holding silent for a long, full klik before something finally fell into place for him. "No. Not anytime soon. I never anticipated that I would have anything to do with sparklings."

Finally, _finally_ Prowl relaxed. The nod of acceptance was curt, but everything else all but screamed his relief. Not just at having an answer, but in having the one he wanted.

"I reserve the right for either of us to bring this up once every five centuries, should we wish to," Megatron amended the agreement, watching carefully as Prowl processed the addition.

"That is agreeable," Prowl decided with a slight nod. He pulled a datapad from subspace and made the edits.

"You really do intend to have that signed before we merge," Megatron didn't hide his bewildered amusement.

"Or hardline," Prowl added firmly. "Yes. An agreement in written, legal form allows for less confusion and ambiguity in any relationship."

"Have you come to a decision on whether you enjoy interfacing?" Megatron went for the question that had plagued him since their first time.

Once more Prowl stilled, his optics dimming slightly as he _thought_ about it. It had been nine decaorns, over a metacycle. Megatron had pleasured his frame in ways that felt like an inferno consuming was him, and in ways that brought the slow, pleasant tingle to a gradual peak. Both felt _amazing_ , but did he _enjoy_ it? The act, yes. What it cost him, though ... he shuddered every time he thought about what it felt like to turn his tactical computer off.

"You don't," Megatron answered for him.

"Because of how unpleasant it is to turn the systems off," Prowl confirmed, then softened. "Once I'm past that and into the pleasure, you do make it feel very good."

It stung, more than it should, but Megatron nodded his acceptance. He couldn't fault Prowl's effort to _try_. The mech had submitted every time he'd been approached. He voluntarily remained in Megatron's berth each night. He'd even reciprocated, awkwardly, on occasion lately.

"Then I will not ask again," Megatron offered.

"No," Prowl sighed, though there was a flicker as his field reached out that spoke of gratitude for the offer even as it was refused. "Interfacing is important for a bonded couple. We both know it. You have desires that I must address for this to succeed."

Megatron considered that, disagreed with it, but decided not to bring it up again until after they were out of this town. It wasn't as if he lusted for Prowl. The Praxian was smaller and lighter than he really preferred. Even now that his valve had stretched and no longer needed anything more than lubricant, Megatron had to be careful not to cause damage as he overloaded. Once they existed in the real world Megatron would have easy access to others to sate his frame with.

This ... this he could work within. Bide his time, plan, prepare, and introduce it when everything was ready. He might not be a walking tactical computer, but he was far from incompetent at the game.

"Very well," Megatron inclined his helm and settled back, expecting that the conversation was over. It was rare for more than one or two difficult subject to be broached on the same night.

There was a first time for everything, and for Megatron it marked a return to the first orns when Prowl felt intense pressure to _do_ something. Pressure he knew came from the mecha that Prowl left with every decaorn to discuss the town, progress and needs.

"Which do you guard more, your processors or your spark?" Prowl asked, his voice even but hinting that this was a critical question.

"Which do I guard more?" Megatron repeated, startled by both the question and the intensity of the night already. He knew Prowl now recognized it as part of his processing system, a way to acknowledge the question and mark that he was working on the answer.

Coming from anyone else it was a simple question to answer; his spark. Without a spark there was no life. From Prowl, like from Soundwave, it wasn't a question to be taken lightly. The implications of not guarding his processors as carefully as his spark with such intellectually manipulative mecha were extensive.

Still, in the end, Megatron was a warrior. He could function with a crippled processor. He could not function with a crippled spark.

"My spark," he answered, watching Prowl carefully.

The Praxian nodded and fell silent for the better part of two breems while Megatron began reading.

"Do ... you wish to hardline before we merge?" Prowl asked, his tone an uneasy one.

"No," Megatron responded with easy speed on that one. No, he did not want to find out that Prowl was laying some kind of elaborate trap without a way to break him. Even as Megatron thought of traps, the relief in Prowl's field spoke openly of a mech who did not want to hardline at all.

"You guard your processors over your spark," Megatron murmured, still trying to wrap his own around the concept of preferring to expose his spark over his processors.

"Far more," he nodded. "When I was designed, I was an experiment in just how far a sparked tactical system could be taken and still be useful. That design code is hardwired in. This spark," he tapped his chest, "is not the first to power these processors. When it took over, it was not expected to be the last. They were getting better in what to ask for, in how to select a spark that could survive the demands. Even the Prime was surprised that this one lasted the first thousand vorns. Then they had more serious things to worry about, and Optimus never has grasped that I'm not simply a talented specialist."

"So who are _you_ , spark or processors?" Megatron asked, the surreal nature of the discussion making it easier to deal with.

"A combination of both, just as all mecha are," Prowl answered evenly, serious and focused. "My spark is a calm, patient and logical one well-suited to the function it was called for. It is more emotional that I am, though the emotions are muted compared to yours. Likely the greatest difference is that when spark and processors are in conflict, my processors win. No matter how many changes are made to my frame and coding I am still a purpose-built tactician. My function has always been to produce tactics that work, not to produce tactics influenced by emotions. The ethics, goals and casualty limits of what I plan have always been for others to determine."

"Part of how you adapted so easily to the war, and to here," Megatron rumbled. Where had Prowl been indeed. He would have been so easy to bring into the Decepticons and kept in heel. Only loyalty to the Prime stood in the way. He could have dealt with that.

"And part of why, even as your bonded, I will always be beholden to the Prime," Prowl warned him. "It was made very clear that your moral code is not allowed to guide mine."

Megatron huffed and scowled, but after what he'd just been told and what he knew of Prowl, he couldn't be surprised. It was an issue that could be chipped away with over time, so long as Prowl and Prime did not communicate regularly.

"So what is still to work out before we bond?" Megatron asked, abruptly eager to have that stage over with and _know_ the spark he was dealing with, to know just how in tune it was with the processors it powered.

"Sign and file the contract," Prowl responded.

"Then give it here," he extended a hand and the datapad was obediently placed in his hand along with a stylus. He flicked it on and scanned the contents out of habit, to ensure they were what he expected. It was bizarre to have a contract detailing such a personal relationship, but he signed it anyway. It wasn't nearly as disagreeable an idea as a forced bonding.

* * *

This was it. There was no backing out after this. No option to change his mind. After tonight, his continued existence would be inexorably entwined with Prowl's.

It was an unpleasant idea to contemplate.

The alternative was worse, and Megatron now knew this government was willing to execute. Motormaster had been extinguished three orns ago. It had been a quick deactivation, carried out in the central courtyard of their little town of exiles.

It had a sobering effect on everyone. Up until his spark chamber had been imploded and he'd grayed out in front of them, no one was really sure they'd execute anyone. Even fewer believed their leader couldn't stop it. But standing there, watching Prime and Megatron watch the execution, it had finally really sunk in how little power the leaders had now.

It had surprised everyone when it had been Starscream that made the fuss, screeching nonsense about how dare they execute a mech for being what he'd been sparked to be and how it wasn't right. The former Air Commander had nearly managed to rile his fellow Seekers into action when Optimus Prime caught him and pulled him back with surprising ease. Seeing the erratic, demanding, fiery Seeker curl against the Prime's chest plates, shaking, was quite possibly the strangest thing Megatron had ever seen. Watching the Prime stroking his wings, offering softly worded comfort _that was accepted_ was just as strange.

Then Blastoff growled and the world seemed to focus once more. Starscream turned his helm to his one-time lover and hissed back, rattling his wings in warning. The move, something that Megatron couldn't quite translate, sent a ripple through every mecha with wings, Autobot, Decepticon and local.

::Starscream and Prime: bonded.:: Soundwave explained.

Two orns later, last night, Prowl was pressing Megatron to finalize details on their contract.

So Megatron was sitting on his berth, his back against the wall, when Prowl walked into the room. The Praxian was grim, determined, but not the least bit afraid. He'd come to terms with this long ago.

"Are you ready?" Prowl asked as he knelt on the berth, taking in the freshly cleaned and detailed former warlord's frame.

"As I'll ever be," Megatron rumbled, noting that Prowl had done a bit more than usual to look good and was making an attempt at acting desirable and desiring. So even he had a sense that this was a special event worthy of making an effort at making memorable. He opened his arms and embraced the Praxian when Prowl crawled into his lap for a kiss that was returned. It was still a strange sensation, Prowl unskilled and unaroused but trying.

"Your tactical systems are engaged," Megatron murmured in surprise.

A small nod answered. "All my research indicates that the most stable bond is created when both parties are fully aware and cognizant."

"But you can't overload," Megatron scowled down.

"A minor inconvenience," Prowl shrugged. "Forming the bond is primary. Overloading isn't actually required. It's simply rare for a mecha to be built that doesn't overload from spark contact. I will remain fully cognizant," he said with the firm tone that warned he wasn't going to back down.

"Very well," Megatron relented. Even knowing it was coming, he was slightly startled by the sound of chest armor unlocking and parting. It was whisper-quiet, the movement of quality construction and regular maintenance. The glow of pale blue light from within draw Megatron's gaze down, across Prowl's set facial features and to something he'd never been offered like this before. He'd seen sparks, extinguished them in his very hands, but never had he seen one that wasn't about to gutter out because of him.

This spark was a peace offering.

Prowl held still, his field settled and ready as he gave Megatron all the time the warrior needed to process what he was looking at and what it meant. He continued to hold steady when thick gray chest plates unlocked and reluctantly parted, their owner far less ready to expose his spark to someone who'd tried to extinguish it for so long, no matter what their resent history said of Prowl's likely actions.

Pale blue light, the same color as Prowl's spark, added to the glow between them. With infinite precision Prowl leaned forward, just close enough for the first leaders to connect with a jolt of energy that made them both shudder and drew a low, shaky moan from Megatron.

Prowl held still, allowing three more leaders to connect, then shifted a bit closer so the outermost edges of the coronas ghosted together. That drew a moan from them both, though for very different reasons. Megatron felt the pleasure, but Prowl felt new systems coming into his periphery and tasted both the pleasure of anticipation and his spark's distress at the idea of supporting even _more_. It was already strained to its limit.

Though neither mech thought it, Megatron's spark flickered reassurance over the fledgling connection that it supported all the new systems. The mechs only noticed when Prowl's spark relaxed, releasing the forming distress, and embraced its new companion a little more. The natural calm order of Prowl's spark flooded into Megatron's, offering sanctuary and soothing to the fiery maelstrom. In exchange the maelstrom showed Prowl the _passion_ that drove it, offered an entirely different basis for functioning and reasons to exist.

Despite his intentions, Prowl shivered with a chassis-deep moan at the first rush of Megatron's fire through his systems. Not just showing him a new way to think, but a new way to _feel_. Prowl's spark explored it, but his processors reveled in it, echoing their unparalleled joy at _understanding_ through their gradually merging sparks.

Megatron's spark and the processors beyond it preened at the joy it caused, reveling in having something so incredibly new to Prowl.

Their frames faded from awareness as the merge deepened, sharing spark-awareness of history. Moments that were marked so deeply they resonated through their very life forces.

_The bliss of being called to a frame and function that was **perfect**._

_The rage of losing the only mech he cared about._

_A kiss that reordered _everything_ for a mecha who could not conceive of such a thing. Pain. Horrible pain. The frame hurt, but the spark screamed in terror that it had led the mech it powered to crash._

~Wait, a kiss shut you down?~ Megatron forced the sharing to pause to examine this memory more.

~Not the kiss. What it made me think,~ Prowl corrected, reluctantly pulling the memory further to the fore. The features and designation weren't of anyone Megatron recognized, and Prowl didn't expect him to. Quicksilver had never become anyone important in the war, or in anything else outside of this string of memories. They were memories of simple events. Just spending quiet down time together, linked to feelings of emotional pleasure. Then the kiss. Emotions erupted inside Prowl that the mech still had no names for but were labeled as 'incredibly dangerous', a threat to Prowl's very function, marked as reason to have a mecha removed quickly.

Megatron knew the names, and struggled not to be stunned at it as he shared the information with Prowl. He'd long thought love made you weak, he didn't want it, but even he accepted that it could be useful. It was part of the basic protocols. That a prominent Autobot could view love as so much more dangerous than hate was a revelation, and confusing.

Prowl quivered, rejecting the entire principle even more sharply. If that was love, then love was destructive, uncontrollable. Hate and fear were tools. Prowl understood how to use the later, but the former ... it threatened everything he _was_.

~Don't worry. I don't love you, and you don't love me,~ Megatron chuckled, amazed and bemused as he let his curiosity go for the time being. Irrational was not a good feel for Prowl, especially not with their sparks already entwined. The visceral reaction was gratifying, even if it was a bit unnerving to realize how Prowl responded when his logical, tactical center was overridden by emotion.

There was a moment as Prowl stilled, his focus on storing the memory back in its place and centering himself from the turmoil reviewing it caused. His spark recovered faster, snuggling against Megatron's in an instinctive bid to be _one_ , coming one step closer to the unity of the Well of All Sparks and Primus that all sparks remembered, even if the mecha they powered could not.

Important memories returned in flickers between them, an exchange between sparks rather than between mecha. Prowl and Megatron were simply along for the ride, permitted to watch and learn what they could, but not truly participants anymore.

Megatron studied, trying to learn, but Prowl _felt_ , absorbing such a radically different way of experiencing reality. His tactical computer recoiled at the emotion-driven purpose, but its own need to account for variables demanded it take in this way of functioning and use it to further its calculations.

Beyond the merge Megatron's frame was quickly losing its battle to hold off the spark-driven overload. As Prowl watched, felt, and tried to comprehend, the large mech roared, his processors whiting out at the torrent of energy crashing into every system.

* * *

As their sparks separated, Prowl twitched. He still wasn't sure what to make of the entire situation. Despite all he'd learned and his need to recharge so his processors could fully assimilate what had happened, he found he could do little more than stare at the mech he was now bound to as gray chest plates closed automatically. His thoughts tumbled, always returning to how little time he expected to have left now that their bond would take one with the other. Or more accurately, now that when he and Starscream were taken out, they would drag Megatron and Optimus Prime with them.

"Such dark thoughts," Megatron murmured as he came back to reality. He couldn't actually read any of them, but he got the drift of it anyway.

Ice blue optics regarded him for a long, unsteady moment. Then a finger tapped a dataport on his wrist.

That startled Megatron enough to drag him fully out of his stupor. Instead of opening it, he reached into his subspace and pulled out two cubes of good energon. High grade for himself, strong midgrade for Prowl. "Drink. We shouldn't let our energy get low."

Prowl nodded mutely, accepted the energon and downed it quickly. His spark swirled with pain he couldn't name and didn't try to. It was related to regret, related to knowing he was going to expire soon, but it was neither. Just as strong, maybe stronger, were the alien sensations from the other side of the bond. He'd never expected to fully understand what Megatron felt, however, and those were dismissed readily enough.

Megatron took longer, savoring his high grade and giving it time to invigorate his systems. It gave him time to study his bonded, to sort through the emotions that were not his own flickering unhindered into his spark. With any other mech, he'd have pinned him down and fucked him senseless to settle him. But this was Prowl. Prowl who didn't overload even from a spark merge. Prowl who found interfacing as distressing as it was pleasurable. No, for Prowl the hardline request had to be respected. There was a _reason_ the tactician didn't want to speak.

The connection, when Megatron offered his wrist-port, was done quickly and smoothly. Prowl's processors were long accustomed to linking into other systems, be they sparked or not. Firewalls shifted, fell or strengthened, depending on what Megatron was allowed to access. For a painful moment Megatron struggled to adapt to the datarate until Prowl caught his difficulty and slowed it to a more natural rate.

~How much have you worked out about this plan of theirs?~ Prowl asked, tired, reluctant and beginning to second-guess himself in a way he never had before.

~What's to work out?~ Megatron scowled through the connection, only to catch _sad-resigned_ across the bond while Prowl's processors got _busy_ making a data pack for him.

~Myself and Starscream are _much_ easier to assassinate than you and Prime,~ Prowl said as he sent the calculations.

~And you _went_ with it?~ Megatron roared in outrage, twisting his fame to slam his fist into Prowl's chest. He sent the Praxian flying backwards, snapping the data cable and slamming Prowl into the wall hard enough to dent it and crumple Prowl's front end.

"Do you really think that will work any better on me than Starscream?" Prowl asked calmly. Though the pulse across the fresh bond was more riled, it was still so calm compared to Megatron's that the warlord didn't notice. "I chose the plan with the greatest probability of survival."

The words started to sink in, Megatron's spark objecting to doing damage to the mech it now required to live. " _This_ has the greatest odds of survival?" he repeated incredulously. "A suicide mission was the _good_ idea?"

Prowl nodded, not trying to move from where he'd slid down to sit on the floor with his back against the wall. "While the probability that I have misread their plans is small, it does exist. The other choice was guaranteed deactivation."

"Does Prime know?" Megatron growled, his fists curled and shaking in impotent rage.

"I warned him. He did not believe I am correct," Prowl would have shrugged if his shoulders and back were willing to make the movement. "Even after all this time, he still believes that the good in mecha will prevail."

"So what did you calculate would happen after we're gone?" Megatron forced himself to remain rational, a process that was easier than usual but still tested his will. That he was facing a non-aggressive, rational conversation definitely helped. Starscream would be ranting and threatening. Prowl stuck to calm facts, right to his spark.

"There is a 59.89237% probability that they will either wipe or execute everyone immediately. If they do not, leadership will fall to Soundwave and Jazz. Soundwave will take my place as the law-keeper. Jazz can handle coercing those who need it to cooperate. However, the greatest change will be a much greater willingness by both leaders to allow mecha to be wiped against their consent. Prime has been a great impediment towards the hard choices that Jazz and Soundwave are both willing and able to make, and enforce."

"I am _quite_ willing to make those calls," Megatron growled, furious at how much he had been kept in the dark about.

"I know, but are you willing, _able_ , to no longer follow the call of your spark?" Prowl looked at him with sadness weaving across the bond. "I know you now. I now _know_ what I long suspected. You are a revolutionary on the same level that I am a tactician and Soundwave is a host. It was what we were sparked to be, to do. Even if you are wiped, you will still lead a new revolt when you have found your new cause."

"And Prime?" Megatron poked at the sadness and the statement about himself, not expecting to get any of it from Prowl. He'd never thought about why _he_ , of all the billions of repressed mecha, called up a successful revolt. He'd simply done what he saw he needed to.

Prowl actually gave a bitter chuckle. "He's _Optimus_. Jazz will be there to retrieve the Matrix. It will be safe and far from here until Cybertron is ready for it once more. We began preparing for this the moment Optimus agreed to surrender. We knew the Matrix-bearer would never leave here. He's too much a leader to be allowed to leave. Much like you. They can't afford to have either of you wandering around. Your very natures makes you both far too dangerous."

"Why such a convoluted plan?" Megatron scowled as he stood and stalked over to the mech he was bonded to, who had remained where he fell.

Prowl's optics kept their lock on Megatron's the entire time. He wasn't afraid, not of this mech. He understood too much now, and in a way it was a blessed thing, to finally understand the full context of the war and what he'd been fighting almost his entire existence. It was bitter too, knowing so much, and yet he could not regret the knowing no matter how painful. "Their laws, their fears, their hopes. I did all I could to protect as many of us as I could. They've even listened to me on occasion."

Megatron stared down at the mech, his processors spinning. "How can you be so _calm_?" he snarled, giving into a long lifetime of conditioning towards violence as he grabbed Prowl by the collar armor and hauled the unresisting and unafraid mech up to optic level. He felt the pain of damage in Prowl's field, and how easily the mech ignored it. It was something he could respect. Did respect.

"Because not being calm is not useful," Prowl replied, watching Megatron's features twist in impotent rage. He triggered his frame to relax a bit more and his valve lubricant to flow. The bond would keep Megatron from beating him as severely as the warlord had beaten Starscream for so long, which left the second option for venting. It was twisted and wrong, but Prowl understood. He accepted. He even welcomed it in a strange way, as payment for some of his own evils.

The deep, frustration-filled growl that vibrated their frames from Megatron spurred Prowl into action as his tactical computer provided an idea right from his spark's new understanding. He brought his arms up, ignoring the way the gears objected, and clasped them on Megatron's shoulders to draw himself into a kiss. He knew he wasn't good at it, but it was enough to get the point across when he opened his lip plates and offered himself to the angry mech he was mated to.

It accomplished exactly what Prowl calculated. Megatron's anger, already shifting towards lust so it had an outlet it could take, made the rest of the transition quickly and lost much of its violent edge at a willing, pliant receptacle. One large gray hand moved from Prowl's collar armor to his hip, then the other one shifted, supporting his weight more agreeably when backed against the wall. His mouth was plundered and when he slid his valve cover open he heard Megatron's spike pressurize between his legs, sliding across the platelets around his valve.

Lips found Prowl's neck, a nip on an energy line hard enough to draw energon that was then lapped up.

"Turn that blasted computer off," Megatron growled, rocking his hips to slide his spike along the sensitive platelets. "I want your screams."

Prowl shivered at both command and tone, but complied. As his thoughts became hazy, uncoordinated and increasingly tied to his frame, Prowl moaned in a mixture of pleasure from his interface systems and pain from his shoulders and back and chest. It took more effort than it should have, but by the time Megatron shifted him up and pressed his spike inside, stretching him to the edge of pain with a blaze of pleasure, Prowl managed to turn off his pain subroutines.

Pleasure bloomed across Prowl's awareness and he willingly fell into it to escape the last reminders of how scattered his thoughts were. A singular focus on the moment, on his frame and he cried out as his helm fell back, offering more of his throat to the mech he was with. With strong hands on his hips, his back supported by the wall, Prowl still managed to hook his legs around Megatron's hips and added his unskilled efforts to the building pleasure. He _wanted_. Just in that moment, his mind all but gone, but he _wanted_.

Knowing how limited his time was, knowing better than any other that his use as a tactician and planner was functionally past, he grasped at this pleasure to remember it despite the cost.

Somewhere his processors wondered if he should find out what it was like to be with Jazz. If he should leave the tactical systems off and experience what it meant to be a 'normal' mecha for a few orns.

Both thoughts were shattered by the next thrust and a possessive growl at his throat, the bond pulsing with jealously that Prowl's spark reflexively tried to sooth.

"Feels so good," Prowl moaned, pushing the sensation across the bond and into his voice. It had the desired affect, settling Megatron and focusing him on chasing the overload he was already close to.

* * *

Prowl remained still until he was certain that Megatron was deep in recharge, sated by more rounds of rough interfacing than Prowl could be bothered to count, even if he'd remained conscious for all of it. He ached everywhere, but only one injury was worth getting up for. That punch at the beginning had crushed much of his front end and now he had top priority alerts that metal was dangerously close to his spark chamber.

He moved cautiously, both to avoid rousing Megatron and to avoid aggravating the damage. When he reached the lift that would take him to street level he commed Ratchet, quietly endured the ranting, curses and forestalled the medic's intent to take a few strips out of Megatron with a weary request that the damage be dealt with first.

 _That_ shut the medic up.

Despite Prowl's insistence that he could reach the clinic on his own, he'd barely made it ten paces when the ambulance showed up and demanded he get in. Too tired and sore to argue, Prowl complied without a word.

"You'd better have one _Pit_ of a good explanation for this," Ratchet snarled at him.

"Good, no. Expected, yes," Prowl sighed as he shifted into a position that hurt a little less. "We bonded. I expected a violent reaction to what he was to learn."

"I swear you're a masochist of the first order," Ratchet growled as they reached the clinic.

"I'm not," Prowl countered quietly, noting but not understanding the sudden flare of distress from Ratchet.

"Prowl, just relax," Ratchet instantly focused on his patient in a way he hadn't expected he'd need to. There's been no cranial damage, and while some of the larger components of Prowl's tactical computer were in his chassis, it shouldn't have been enough damage to shut the thing down. "Try to think back. How long have you been feeling off?"

"Off?" the Praxian scowled.

Ratchet came to a stop and let Prowl out before transforming to help support him on the short walk to the operating room. "The last time you sounded and felt like this your tactical computer had been damaged."

It took a moment for that to sort itself out in Prowl's processors, and he chuckled weakly. "Not damaged. Just turned off. I can't overload with it on, you know that. I guess I just left it out of the boot cycle. It's a real strain to keep turning it on and off. It was never really designed to be turned off."

"Don't I know it," Ratchet growled with his own frustrations about the high-maintenance system in an otherwise low-maintenance frame. "Do you intend to leave it off?" He asked as he got Prowl to lie on a med berth and began to scan for the exact damage.

Prowl tried to think, the idea drifting through his processors and awareness for entirely too long before he decided. "Yes, unless I am working. It's less ... unpleasant that way."

Ratchet grunted. "Then down you go," he muttered and dropped Prowl into medical stasis.

* * *

Megatron roused mid-morning, distantly aware that his berth had been long-abandoned by his mate. As soon as his processor caught up to his chronometer he shrugged the absence off as normal. Prowl never remained in the berth after he recharged. The mech had no grasp of what it meant to relax and enjoy what he had.

He was almost fully booted when a small sound of metal against metal caught his attention and his optics flared to life.

"So you're finally awake," Jazz's voice was dark, full of compressed fury. It was a very different tone from what Megatron was used to, and it made him accept that this was indeed a long-surviving SpecOps commander who'd earned his record and reputation.

"And you are in my quarters," Megatron replied, his tone hard but his scowl was more confused as he took in the black and white mech leaning against the far wall, right next to the sizeable dent that had been created the night before. If Jazz had intended to deactivate, or even seriously harm him, it would have been long done. No, the mech was here to talk.

"Someone had to tell you, and I volunteered," Jazz sneered at him, all the hatred built up by the long war unfurling between them. "After the audial full I got from Ratchet, I know Prowl shared with you his suspicions on the real reason for the bondings. And you beat him within an inch of extinguishing for it."

The scowl deepened. "I did no such thing. I hit him once."

Fury flashed across Jazz's features. "Once is more than enough. Fifty-three microns, Megatron. Fifty-three _microns_. That's how close metal shards came to Prowl's spark chamber, and then you fucked him hard enough to rip the valve lining and crack his pelvic girdle. Never mind the damage to his back and shoulders when he hit that," he jabbed a thumb towards the wall next to him. "If you're that suicidal, I'm happy to help you along," he hissed and pushed off the wall. An energon blade flashing between his fingers as it began to rotate in a complex pattern when he took a step forward. "But you will _not_ hurt my agent again."

"Your agent?" Megatron scowled. "He hasn't been Ops...."

"Prowl is _mine_ ," Jazz snarled with another step forward, the blade stilling as it settled in a strike hold. "You don't leave Ops. Ask him about Red Alert. Or who the Autobot command trine was, and how we ended up with the job. I _will_ protect him, even if that means killing him."

Red optics narrowed, gauging how serious Jazz was, how close to snapping and just how severe the snap was likely to be. Megatron didn't like what he saw. Jazz was serious. Every word was meant.

With a surge forward Megatron grabbed Jazz's weapon-hand, twisting until the blade fell from numb fingers and backed the smaller mech against the wall. This close their fields brushed, revealing just how intense Jazz's fury and pain ran, and his surprise, and just how centered Megatron was.

"Prowl is mine now," Megatron growled, applying just a bit more pressure on Jazz's wrist. "Bound and bonded. It doesn't matter what any of us want, that is how it is. I can admire your desire to protect him. But understand this. Prowl is no longer yours to protect. He is _my_ mate. _My_ bonded. And _I_ will protect him from all comers, including this government we're beholden to."

"And who will protect him from you?" Jazz asked, anger, pain and loss all warring for his attention.

"I will not hurt him again," Megatron gave a promise through his field as much as his words.

"And if you do, I will be here, and I won't wait for you to wake up," Jazz promised with matching fierceness.

* * *

As much as it was a struggle, Megatron managed to keep his hands to himself for six full orns after Prowl was released from Ratchet's care and given the all-clear. He hated that doing _nothing_ was the apology he could give. It rubbed him the wrong way on every level, but he knew that simply not being touched was what Prowl wanted. Prowl was well aware of how difficult it was for Megatron too, making it as suitable an apology as anything available. He really hadn't grasped how easily the Praxian was damaged when anger fueled his lust. He'd never intended to do that level of damage, and he was determined not to again.

He'd spent much of the time Prowl was being repaired with Soundwave, and with Prime, Starscream and Jazz. Much to his frustration, it was exactly as Prowl had said. Prime simply refused to believe that it was an assassination plot, though Starscream did and was taking considerably more care when he was out and vulnerable. The Seeker couldn't ignore his wings though, and his flights were when both Prowl and Jazz expected the attack to occur. It was a timing Megatron and Starscream agreed with, since it was when they'd stage such an attempt.

Now, eight orns after they'd bonded, Megatron found he'd roused before his mate again and it was beginning to concern him. He'd been slagged enough times to know it took a while for repairs to set and for self-repair to stop asking for more energon and recharge, but this was too long. That Prowl hadn't had his tactical computer on yet was disturbing in its own was as well. The Praxian _existed_ for that thing. Megatron believed it when he'd been told, and he _understood_ it now that he'd had the time to process what their bonding had taught him.

He had a nagging suspicion he knew why, but both his spark and processor refused to believe it of this mech. Prowl didn't wait to die. He planned, plotted, schemed and manipulated with the best. He fought the odds and won. He didn't do depressed or surrender any more than Megatron did.

Yet Megatron _had_ surrendered. Twice in less than half a century.

That little nagging pointed out that Prowl genuinely believed he was past his usefulness despite the challenges Megatron had tempted him with. For a mecha that existed only for their function, that was an intolerable thing. For one that genuinely did not fear extinguishing, continuing to exist was not reason enough to do so.

Almost reluctantly, Megatron pinged Jazz's comm.

::Whatcha want?:: the former Autobot TIC responded with an unsettlingly cheerful voice.

Megatron paused at the wording, then plunged ahead. He'd need the Autobots to pull this off. ::A ship.::

::A ship?:: Jazz repeated quizzically. ::What kind of ship?::

He paused again, debating how to phrase this in a way that Jazz would get instantly, but those eavesdropping would be lost at. ::An ark,:: he used the English word. ::For a little post-bonding time away from _work_.::

He could almost hear the way Jazz's visor brightened. ::Does Prowl know your plan?::

::Not yet. I think I want to surprise him. He hasn't been himself lately.::

::No, he hasn't,:: Jazz agreed, his voice darkening with his own concerns. ::I'll see what I can do.::

::Good.:: Megatron cut the connection as he felt Prowl begin to boot and turned his attention to his new mate. It was unsettling to feel the defused, unfocused nature of Prowl's field not sharpen as the sequence ended. The tactical computer _still_ wasn't being booted. He slid a hand along Prowl's chassis, feeling the warmth and life he was bound to. "Why are you leaving it off so much?"

"Mmm?" Prowl turned ice blue optics on him.

"Your tactical computer has been off since we bonded," he clarified, drawing Prowl against him in what he hoped was an affectionate manner.

"It was never designed to be turned on and off," Prowl explained, seemingly willing to remain where he was. "The strain of doing so often was ... damaging. I only used it for work, and barely that since we came here. So I leave it off unless I really need it."

Megatron was silent, but it hurt to hear that. Hurt and angered him.

Prowl flinched away at the anger, only to be held firmly.

"I will _not_ hurt you," Megatron promised with a deep, resonant growl. "On my spark, I will not damage you again." He felt Prowl quiver, trying to decide whether to believe him without the assistance of the hardware and software that was capable of making the calculations, hardware Prowl had spent his entire functioning dependant on and serving. It was gratifying to feel the Praxian relax, accepting the statement even though he wasn't sure of how truthful it was. "Do you _like_ existing with your tactical computer off?" he murmured, stroking Prowl's frame softly. Even if Prowl didn't feel it as gentle pleasure, he felt the intent in the touch, field and bond.

"No," Prowl shivered faintly. "I hate it."

"Then don't," Megatron purred, kissing Prowl's neck as his hands moved lower, shifting in intent. "Schedule when we'll interface and I will honor it. Leave it on except for that joor."

Prowl pressed into the touch on reflex, knowing what was expected of him without thinking about it. "Beginning when we get out of the berth today?"

"Yes," Megatron promised as his mouth found Prowl's, expressing his passion and desire even more gently than their first time together. Still frustrated by Prowl's lack of tactile sensors, he worked himself up to make an offering he hadn't in a very, very long time. Not willingly, at least. He began with sliding his fingers to caress and curl over Prowl's spike cover. Asking for the spike that hadn't been touched since their fourth night together when it had sunk in for Megatron that Prowl didn't care how he got off, and really didn't have any hang-ups with being penetrated.

The bond to pulsed with Megatron's desire, hot and focused and sharp enough to make Prowl gasp as he bucked into the touch. The cover slid open and Megatron broke the kiss to slide down Prowl's chassis, not bothering to kiss until he'd reached the edge of the interface array. The brush of his lips made the intentions hinted at through the bond and movement click for Prowl, and he stiffened despite the shiver and moan of anticipation.

"You don't need to...."

"Hush," Megatron's tone was low and more request than order. "You've indulged me in everything I've asked for. It's past time I pushed my limits for your pleasure. Especially after the damage I caused after we bonded."

Hoping to keep Prowl from speaking, he swirled his glossa around the tip of Prowl's spike, just poking out of the housing. Though the moans, the simple spike slid free and into Megatron's mouth. 

Prowl's fists clenched, wanting to grab but knowing just how far his mate was pushing himself already. His vocalizer clicked, vents hitched and fans increased in speed as he gave into the sensations and the protocols designed to handle them. In the back of his processors he noted that this was easier to enjoy when he wasn't struggling with the disorientation of having just turned his tactical systems off.

Megatron swirled his glossa around the spike that only he'd touched, privately grateful that it was small compared to those he'd been forced to suck. Even when Prowl's hips bucked into the slick heat, this spike didn't come close to forcing its way down his intake. He was grateful too that Prowl had learned to be a vocal berthmate, encouraging with his pleasure rather than demanding. This would never be a favored activity, but as an apology it was likely to continue working.

It happened almost too fast. Prowl keened as the building charge crackled along his plating. His hips backed up hard, completely out of his control to pump burst after burst of thick, charged transfluid to fill Megatron's mouth. The bulk was swallowed, tingling as it went down. 

The rush of pleasure through the bond surprised Megatron, and the sensation was filed away for later review.

His fans gasping and mind completely blank from the wash of pleasure, Prowl willingly sank onto the berth and purred at Megatron's continued, gentle attention to his spike until he recovered fully and the hard length had softened to retreat into its housing. Prowl was still slightly dazed and not even aware that he'd spread his legs to display his glistening valve more prominently in silent expectation.

With a groan of his own and anticipation pulsing in response to Prowl's fading pleasure, Megatron gripped Prowl's hips and sank into his mate with a single smooth thrust. Prowl's valve quivered and gripped him, the calipers cycling along the thick, long spike as he slid back, then drove in again.

Prowl groaned again, his frame twitching as he rolled into the motion, angling his hips to take the thickness deeper into himself, knowing the pleasure it would bring. When Megatron's hands found his to entwine their fingers and pin them down, Prowl smoothly relaxed into the now-familiar motion of thrust and roll of their hips. In this state it was fairly easy to chase the pleasure, the building charge from friction, pressure and pleasure as Megatron slid from him and thrust back in, over and over until Prowl screamed and Megatron roared, filling Prowl's valve with thick transfluid to heighten the smaller mech's overload.

Prowl cried out in surprise and welcome when the thrusting didn't end with the overload, but sought to drive them to yet another.

* * *

In the absolute darkness of an interior office, one of the very few in this town of war criminal outcasts, two nearly white lights begin to glow, then shift as the owner of the optics sat up. They remain perfectly still for a groon, then two, stretching the motionlessness into a full joor. Slowly, finally, the ice blue of the optics filters into focus.

"Lights," Prowl ordered, his voice lased with relief, primarily. Regret whispered on the edge, but primarily he was relieved to feel like himself once more. Though he did not think of them as such at the time, in retrospect the orns with his tactical systems turned off had been torturously long and self-destructive. If he lived to see the morning, he would never do that again. He would accept the joor that Megatron had requested for their pleasure, fall into recharge and boot fully as himself. The schedule was already written, though on a level he knew he was only tormenting himself with the possibility of a future and that Megatron would remain rational and reasonable.

For all his calmness about what he expected this orn, he did not wish to extinguish. He simply refused to waste energy if it was unavoidable.

He didn't so much as twitch when the door slid open against his lock. Two mecha were allowed such a privilege, but this third was the only one who had ever dared make use of an override that wasn't even his. "Is everything ready?"

"Of course," Jazz snorted, twitching. He knew he was severely broken to find it easier to send his agent on a suicide mission than to see him bond to save lives, but such was the way his processors worked now. He stopped fighting it long ago. "Mirage is here and as soon as you leave I'll be on Prime's skidplate whether he realizes it or not. Where's Megatron?"

Prowl paused, testing the feel of the bond. "Still in recharge, I believe."

"Hopefully he'll stay that way long enough for this to go down," Jazz nodded, paused and took one step forward to put a hand on Prowl's shoulder. "You always were one of my best," he said quietly. "I hated losing you to Tactical. I hate losing you to this even more."

A small sad small crossed Prowl's features as he glanced up. "We both beat the odds so many times not even I have kept track. I can not say I regret that it is finally over."

"And what if we could escape, take a ship and bolt?" Jazz suggested.

Ice blue optics flashed and focused sharply. "Prime will never agree."

"He can't stop what he's not conscious for," Jazz pointed out. "Would you come?"

There was an agonizingly long silence as Prowl weighed all the factors for this proposal. What would be a snap decision for most was no such thing for a mech that existed to analyze and weight options into a plan.

"If I still function, I will come," Prowl decide evenly.

Jazz hummed and patted his shoulder. "We'll keep Screamer out of the air while you're gone. It should delay their attempts."

Prowl inclined his helm and stood. "We will know a great deal more by tonight."

"Yes," Jazz's spark contracted with the pain of knowing he was sending another good agent on a suicide mission. The only light was the fact that Prowl had survived death sentences before. He might just survive them again.

* * *

Starscream snarled at Blastoff with the kind of high-strung rage he was infamous for and launched into the air, transforming before he was two lengths up and aiming for the stars.

"Damnit all!" Ratchet snarled at the big shuttle. "We needed him on the ground."

Anything Blastoff was going to say was cut short by a scream pitched high enough to shatter glass and warp metal, then a small explosion above them. Ratchet cursed and ran for the point he figured Starscream was going to crash at, only to have Skywarp appear with the already graying form in his arms.

Not a hundred paces away Optimus Prime clutched his chest and dropped to one knee, his vents gasping as the spark that powered his frame quivered, wavering in its determination to remain. Jazz was at his side in an instant, trying to support the much larger mech, then simply trying to lay him down gently.

"Jazz..."

"Right here," he couldn't manage a happy face right now, not for all his acting ability. "They shot him. The government blew a hole in his chest."

"So close. We were so close," Optimus's voice weakened.

"I know," Jazz murmured, feeling more than seeing as the remaining Autobots and more than a few Decepticons gathered around in various stages of shock.

"Keep it safe," the last Prime whispered as his chest plates began to open. "It will be needed."

"I will," Jazz promised, taking the Matrix from his leader's chest. In a movement that had been practiced until it was flawless, what appeared to be him placing the relic in his subspace was actually a handoff to the cloaked mech at his side.

A joor and a half by air away, Prowl briefly turned his optics off. He could hear the mech walking up behind him, attempting to be silent. These former Neutrals had no grasp of what silent meant, no grasp of what war meant, no grasp of what it meant to be part of something so much greater than themselves in serving a Prime. No matter how frustrating Optimus could be, he was still the Prime. A direct connection to the divine.

"Helm first, then spark," Prowl's voice was calm and cool as he spoke to the one behind him while he looked out over the bright city so full of life. "I don't deactivate easily."

The words were a lie, a last act of defiance against the Neutrals. This was the third spark to power his processors, and in this last klik Prowl was determined to have it be the last. The Neutrals did not deserve to reap the benefits of sparking it again.

The heavy blaster whined to full power and Prowl turned around to face his executioner. Not because he cared to see, but to impress upon this mech that he was indeed about to take a spark that was not attacking him.

The mech wavered, blaster pointed between and just below Prowl's optics, dead center to obliterate his primary processing unit and everything else in his cranium.

Prowl watched, waited. Calm, unmoving. He would accept it if this mech failed to fire.

He did accept it when he saw the energy bolt as it bore through his helm.

**Author's Note:**

> Codes: AU, Dub-Con, Arranged Bonding, Sticky, First Time, Virgin, Violence, MULTIPLE MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH (Prowl, Megatron, Starscream, Optimus Prime, Motormaster)
> 
> Disclaimer: The authors are only playing with their own twisted muses. Transformers belong to Hasbro. Fandom-side, check the [inspirations page](http://www.gatekat-fics.livejournal.com/290.html). We draw from a ton of amazing stories and authors you should read. 
> 
> Notes: Originally posted at <http://tfanonkink.livejournal.com/11556.html?thread=11858980#t11858980>  
> This is the betaed, cleaned up and slightly expanded version, but it is not significantly different.
> 
> For [http://tfanonkink.livejournal.com/10462.html?thread=11632094t11632094](http://tfanonkink.livejournal.com/10462.html?thread=11632094)  
> Prompt: The war is over, but the two sides are still two heavily armed groups of warriors who do not trust the other side an inch.  
> To try to defuse the tensions and integrate both factions into a single Cybertronion people again someone has the great idea of getting the two leaders to bond with the opposite factions second in command.
> 
> With everyone involved agreeable, or at least not complaining too loudly, the Autobots and Decepticons swap mechs.
> 
> Prowl and Starscream are both given a VERY thorough check over by the medics (how detailed is up to the author), then handed over to their new mates.
> 
> The problems start when Megatron realises that Prowl is totally frigid, and purposly making himself as exciting as checking the inventory. Starscream on the other hand dosn't let anyone he dosn't trust touch him, like, EVER!
> 
> Cue Megatron and Optimus working hard to overcome these issues with all sorts of techniques. I'd especially like to see Megatron being a bit rough with Prowl, to get a reaction out of him, and Optimus chaining Starscream to a berth, handfeeding him, and petting him to build up trust.
> 
> When they are ready there will be lots of enthusiastic bonding.
> 
> Sticky or not, it is up to the author!


End file.
